A Moment Not Forgotten
by B. Alex Burke
Summary: UPDATED VERSION! OneShot  A scene between Harry, McGonagall, and Dumbledore after The Final Duel. HUGE BOOK SIX SPOILERS! And severe hints to book seven.


**Author's Note: (Third time's the charm they always say.) This was written for a local contest in which I had to write what I would think was an exceprt from the last chapter of Book 7. I'd love to know what you all think. Reviews are love; help keep the creative brain sparks going. -hint hint-**

Harry swallowed his emotions forcefully before he spoke. "Thank you, Professor." he whispered, his tearful gaze shifting from his former Headmaster's aged face to his shoes, not wanting the older man, even in portrait form, to see him cry.

"You are very welcome." Dumbledore replied softly, his signature smile on his face; a smile that showed compassion; a smile that showed understanding; a smile that showed love. "I meant every word of that, Harry. I truly did."

Harry could only nod, fearful that his emotions would take control of his already weak form completely.

A soft sigh escaped the, until now, silent Headmistress. "Harry," she began, having to swallow hard to get the lump that had formed in her throat from Dumbledore's emotionally charged speech to temporarily leave her. "Why don't you go join Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger in the Gryffindor Common Room." The only sign of the woman's true feelings that could be detected was the slight stagger in her voice and the softness of her tone.

Harry looked up at McGonagall and smiled, the curvature of his lips obviously forced. With a soft nod to both of his previous professors, he turned and exited the large, lemon-scented office and walked slowly down the steps, not even looking up as the gargoyle leapt aside and out of his path.

The young man's tears finally fell as he stepped past the stone figure and took the familiar path toward the Common Room he had become rather comfortable with over the past 7 years; a room he considered the living room to his very large home. Harry was not ashamed of his tears, but certainly was not about to let someone see him shed them, so he kept his head down as he walked down the empty stone corridors toward the portrait of the Fat Lady.

He stopped before the old woman and wiped his eyes, putting on his best smile. "Carpe Deum," he said softly, thankful that small torches were the only lights in the stone corridors. He was surprised that the portrait didn't swing open. "Did someone change the password?"

"Harry, dear," she began softly, shifting from her position in her image. "Have you been crying?" Not many people noticed, but the Fat Lady did care about the occupants of the house she guarded.

"No." he replied quickly, much to quickly to be believable. "No, Ma'am, I haven't been crying." Harry's smile was strained and anyone with decent eyesight or a little common sense could see it.

The older woman crossed her arms and stared at him, much like a mother would her child when she knew he was lying to her. "Harry…" she said sternly.

He sighed. "It's not something I'm really … ready to talk about now, Dear Lady," he replied, his emotions starting to fill his voice. "You know, I think I'm going to take a walk by the lake." The young wizard smiled weakly again at the portrait before turning and almost jogging down the hallway toward the staircase.

Meanwhile, Albus Dumbledore's portrait looked down at the woman whom had been at his side for more than half a century. "You taught him well, Minerva," the old wizard said quietly, his gaze following her as she neared his charmed image. "You taught him well."

Minerva's eyes glazed over as an emotional waved crashed against her already straining heart. "But he could not have done what he did tonight without you, my love." Glistening tears slid down her gracefully aging cheeks, falling from her eyes with haste; she mentally chided herself about it and looked away.

"Oh, my dear." Albus breathed, his perfectly pained hand resting against the edge of the large canvas that housed his image. "Tabby..."

"Please," she squeaked, turning her body so he could not see her face, her pain. "Please ... Don't call me that." Her hands covered her rose-coloured lips as she muffled a strangled sob. "Leave me for a moment?"

The older wizard nodded, whispering a soft, "Alright." before walking from his framed portrait to another image placed in the Gryffindor Common Room.

While the former Headmaster chatted with his fellow Gryffindors, Harry Potter sat before the large white tomb on the West Side of the Black Lake. He played with a blade of grass as he stared at the polished surface of Albus Dumbledore's tomb, trying to will the salty demons that pooled in his eyes away. He might have succeeded in a lot of things he tried, but this was not one of them. A strangled sob escaped the boy's lips as he rested his forehead against the cool stone, and he let out all of the frustration and anguish he'd kept bottled since his duel with Voldemort.


End file.
